


Cherry Pie

by foreverrogers (mortally_wounded)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Escorts, CEO Steve Rogers, Escort Service, Escorts, F/M, Reader Insert, Reader is a Stark, Smut, Steve Rogers AU - Freeform, age gap, alternation universe, bussiness man steve rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25066456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortally_wounded/pseuds/foreverrogers
Summary: Y/N Stark spends her free time as an escort, doing as little or much as her clients desire. One night she takes a job with a big shot businessman needing to let loose. It's business as usual... until Y/N finds out that Steve Rogers is her father's new business partner.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 31
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Y/N meet for the first time... That is, under Y/N's pseudonym of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains smut!!

You weren't going to lie, it wasn't the most savoury of professions. Not that it was a _profession_ at all.

It had started as a side hustle, that's all, innocent extra work to keep you afloat after proclaiming your father's abundant wealth blood money. It had paid well, and had started feeling more empowering than objectifying alarmingly fast. Before you knew it you had a job every other night, a list of clients desperate for just one evening with the elusive _Cherry_. Sure, it wasn't how you thought you would be paying your way through college, but it kept food on the table and a roof over your head and kept your occasional desire for new and shiny objects satiated.

It was cold when you stepped out of the cab, cool New York breeze raising goosebumps along your bare arms as you looked up towards the towering building in front of you. You always found the first date with a new client nerve-wracking, though at this point you knew how to wrap a man around your finger so easily there was no need to be nervous. You had organised to meet at the restaurant on the top floor of the hotel, the one with the hundred dollar entrees and the champagne from champagne and the gorgeous view of the city from every angle. Your father had taken you for dinner there one your 17th birthday, though you tried to push that memory out of your mind as you took the lavish elevator up to the restaurant.

You were late; fashionably so, the best way to ensure he would already be there waiting for you by the time you arrived. You scanned the bustling room, trying your best to visualise the description provided on his profile: late-thirties, dark blond hair, blue eyes, six-foot, strong build. You caught his eye from a seat at the bar, smiling as you watched him fumble in an attempt to stand up. 

"Steve?" You asked as soon as you were close enough, smile still wide and welcoming. He was handsome. _Very_ handsome. Wide shoulders and a muscular frame obvious under his expensive suit. His eyes were bluer than you had imagined, brighter and deeper and almost entrancing. "Cherry," You introduced, your pseudonym falling from your lips with familiarity. "It's nice to meet you." 

"You too," He fumbled as you reached up for a hug, strong voice faltering with anxiety. 

You quickly took a seat on the stool across from him, crossing your legs under the tight skirt of your dress.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asked, voice still laced with nervousness.

"I'll have whatever you're having," You said, smiling as his cheeks lit up in a fiery pink.

You leant your elbow on the bar, head in your hand as you watched him. Your smile and eyes were fond, endearing, a combination of emotion perfected over years of practice.

"First time?" You enquired when he turned back to you, amused by the worry in his eyes and the ever-spreading blush in his cheeks.

He seemed to flush even more at that, caught slightly off-guard by the question. "Oh, I- With an-" He stopped abruptly, unsure whether or not the term _escort_ would offend you. It wouldn't, but you thought his level of caution was respectably adorable. "Yeah," He said, avoiding the word altogether. "First time."

"There's nothing to be nervous about," You smiled, voice as warm as possible. "Just pretend we're two normal people on a normal date who met on Tinder or something. Maybe we had a meet-cute moment at a cafe or we accidentally swapped luggage at the airport. Cheesy rom-com origins are greatly encouraged."

You laughed lightly as the man across from you looked down; nervously still but smiling, visibly less tense as he let his shoulders fall and his teeth unclench. "Thank you," he said, looking back up at you.

"My pleasure," you stated, slightly teasing, letting your hand move gently on top of the one he had resting on the bar. "So," you started, changing the subject. "What brings you to New York?"

* * *

Steve really didn't think he was the type of guy to hire an escort. 

He had been desperate and lonely, back in his home state with nothing to show for his life in DC except for a failed marriage and a job he hated. Fueled by minibar whiskey and a deep sense of self-pity, he had remembered the website a co-worker had mentioned a few years back. _An agency,_ he had said. _Not just sex, necessarily. Conversation, you know?_ Steve remembered thinking he was a scumbag, remembered thinking he would never be _that_ desperate. 

Steve was wrong. Steve was that desperate. 

Desperate enough to scour his other scumbag connections to get the password to the website. If he hadn't been so drunk, he probably would have been concerned about how many people he knew that used the service.

He hadn't intended to do anything that night, scrolling through pictures of cookie-cutter women, smile and hair and over-pronounced breasts all interchangeable from one to the next. But something about you had caught his eye, something he couldn't quite place. There had been a familiarity in your eyes, an understanding, something that had called his name and stuck in his mind even as he closed his laptop, trying to push you out of his head. It hadn't worked. 

There had been more pity drinking, and the rest was a blur. Late night, maybe even early morning; re-writing frantic messages with the guise of composure; fast replies, full stops dismissed in favour of 'xoxo's and love heart emojis; credit card information and three hours upfront. When the afternoon sun awoke Steve the next day he had a date with a woman half his age and the lingering promise of whatever his heart, or his libido, desired.

Steve really didn't think he was the type of guy to hire an escort, but as soon as he locked eyes with you, he thought that might have to change. 

You were undeniably one of the most beautiful people he had ever met, painted red lips set in a warm smile, dress clinging to the curves of your body in ways a man would kill for. You had said his name, sweet and smooth and exactly how he had imagined it, leaving him hanging onto every word. You smelt of vanilla, he thought. Cherry blossoms.

And there it was again, in your eyes, the familiarity that had drawn him in, told him he could trust you and confide in you and all of a sudden he's tipsy and inviting you down to his room. 

He's so nervous he thinks he could start shaking any second. But you're good, good at _this_ , pour him a glass of liquid courage and sit beside him on the upholstered couch. You savour the build-up, talk some more about life as your perfectly manicured hand rests on his knee, tantalizing, daring him to make the first move. He does, eventually, seizing the opportunity during a moment of silence to lean in and kiss you. The mould of your lips together is so natural it's hard to believe it's true.

Steve can't help but surrender to you.

You smile against him, feeling a little surge of triumph, not wasting any time before your in his lap and digging your hands in his hair. You give it a light tug, testing the water, and harder again when the movement elicits a deep, chesty, groan. 

The tight material of your dress rides up above your thighs, and Steve finds himself grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing hard as you get to work on the buttons of his shirt. 

Your fast to discard his suit jacket and shirt, hands eager to roam over expanses of taut muscle as Steve reaches behind you, grasping the zipper of your dress. 

You stop with your hands on his belt buckle. "We should get a-"

"Bedroom," he interrupts, understanding what you mean. He picks you up without warning, suddenly possessed by a man more confident than he. Maybe it's the alcohol flowing through his veins, or maybe it's the growing tightness of his pants as you press against him, but Steve needs you so badly he thinks he might combust. 

You let out a little yelp, surprised by the unexpected movement, laughing before you attach your lips to his again, letting him carry you into the bedroom. 

It's a matter of a few long strides before your there, back meeting the soft plush of the mattress as Steve settles himself between your legs. 

Steve unwraps you like a little boy on Christmas morning, unable to appreciate the lacey lingerie under you dress before your bare and open under him.

You help him with his belt as he leans over to get a condom from the nightstand, pulling so hard you almost break the loops at his waistband, wait with anticipation as he kicks off his trousers and boxers.

You gasp slightly when his fingers move to tease at your entrance. "God you're so fucking wet," He mutters, two fingers entering you, only an inch of the way before being pulled out again, juices collected and circling you clit, not giving you nearly enough pressure. You let out a soft moan, a mixture with a harsh sigh, feeling the need for more friction deep in your core. 

"You're a tease," You retort, shifting your hips against his hand in a frantic attempt for something, anything _more_. "You gonna fuck me or am I gonna have to do that myself?"

"Now who's being the tease?" Two fingers inside you again, a little further this time, just that little bit closer, then gone, empty and yearning. "Gotta say the magic word sweetheart."

"Please," You moan, clenching around nothing, any remaining sass now replaced with pure desperation. "Please, Steve. Please fuck me."

It's the way you say his name that does it to him. Breathy, soft, the wit of only a few moments ago giving way to your need. Need for _him_. 

Steve can't believe how good you feel around him, warm and velvety and like he never wants to _not_ feel like this. "So tight," he whispers, entering you slowly, bit by bit. "So good."

He pauses when he's in to the hilt, the stretch of him stinging in the best way possible. 

"Please don't stop," You breath, swallowing hard, hips circling involuntarily. "Please just fuck me."

It's a tangle of limbs and sloppy wet kisses, of bruising grips on thighs and dirty moans and profanities falling from beautiful lips. It's not long before you're both messes, falling apart for the other in ways that make your heart beat a mile a minute and your insides swell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about the start of this new series!!! Super excited about where this one is gonna go! Kudos and comments are much appreciated <3 Thanks for reading!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N and Steve find out about their common connection, and Steve corners her into a conversation about it.

"Dad!" You called, voice echoing around the open apartment. "We're back!"

You walked into the room with a deep sigh, Morgan's little hand in yours. You could hear murmuring from your dad's office, deep voices and the smell of whiskey in the air indicating something work-related was happening behind closed doors. It had always seemed that day-drinking was the sign of celebration, a job well done. 

"You want something to eat?" You smile down at Morgan, chest warming when she beams up at you and nods.

 _Childhood,_ you reminisced. A better time, a simpler time, a time not ruled by student loans and booze and overpriced New York rent, by sleazy men hiring escorts and _god_ you missed the oblivion of childhood.

You laughed as you scooped Morgan up in your arms, savouring the little string of giggles she releases as you walked over to the kitchen, plopping her down on a stool at the island. You turned to the counter, moving to start slicing up an apple.

You could hear the voices getting closer as the office door clicked open, dress shoes on tiled flooring. 

You turned again, setting the plate in front of Morgan as you stole a slice, biting into it with a grin as Morgan pulled a face at you.

You thought you could feel your heart stop when they walked into the kitchen, almost certain your gulp was audible, that moment when your eyes met suspended in a daunting eternity. 

"Steve," Your dad started, unaware, unsuspecting. "I'd like you to meet my daughters. The little one is Morgan, and this is Y/N."

"Hi," You smiled, forcing yourself to snap out of the racing in your chest. You shook his hand, warm skin on skin, electricity and a holding of breath. "Nice to meet you."

Your expression was mirrored in his, false collectedness just able to hide the shock in your eyes and stiff movements.

"You too," He muttered, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Steve's in from DC for the next few months or so," Tony continued as you let your hand fall awkwardly back down to your side. "We'll be working closely on a new merger, so I thought it was best to get him comfortable and acquainted."

This was all information you knew, of course, of the work trip to New York and the escape from D.C, though the crucial detail that he would be working with Stark Industries was something Steve had failed to mention. 

"Riveting stuff," You replied, tone sarcastic to mask the spreading panic. "Would love to hear more, but I'm gonna have to run. I've still got a bunch of stuff to do for the show on Friday."

"I should probably get going too," Steve added quickly.

You shot him a glaring look, knowing he must be trying to corner you into a conversation you were not willing to have.

"You have a wonderful home, Tony," Steve continues, turning to shake your father's hand firmly. He falters a little. "And a wonderful family. Thank you again for being so accommodating."

"Not a problem," Tony smiled. "I'm sure Y/N wouldn't mind showing you out?" 

It was phrased as a question, but you knew your father well enough to understand it was more of a command. _Play nice_ it had said, tone all too aware that you despised anything to do with his business. 

You swallowed again, painted a fake smile onto your face as you let out a strained, "Mhm," sure you would probably scream if you opened your mouth. 

Turning swiftly, you placed a kiss to Morgan's cheek, hugging her tightly from behind. "See ya munchkin."

"See you Friday?" You questioned, now facing your dad again, grateful to see that Steve had already made a head start to the front door.

"I'll be there."

You smiled a goodbye, taking a deep breath as you braced yourself.

You didn't look at Steve as you walked through the front door he was holding open for you, heard the click of it close behind you as your heart started to beat faster and faster and you picked up your pace, heard the footsteps quickly approaching. 

"Y/N," Steve said, voice almost desperate. 

It sounds unnatural, you thought, him saying your real name. 

"Y/N," He said again, slightly sterner, agitation, worry, panic, every unpleasant emotion combined in one.

You cursed the elevator as you were forced to stop in front of it, strongly contemplating taking the stairs as you pressed the downwards button compulsively. 

"Y/N." For the third time now, and the sound sent a shiver up your spine and goosebumps along your skin. You could feel him next to you, see him in your peripheral vision. You still couldn't muster the nerve to look at him. "Are we really not going to talk about this?"

"There's nothing to talk about," You stated, almost instantaneous.

God-sent, the elevator arrived with a ding and the slide of heavy metal doors. You stepped into it, heard the soft music and Steve step in behind you. You pressed the ground level button, held your breath as Steve reached in front of you to press for basement parking. 

Now your breathing the same air, shoulder to shoulder, and the silence is so loud it's deafening.

"There's nothing to talk about," You repeated, whisper-quiet, trying to convince yourself more than anything.

"So you don't think it's a problem that we-" Steve cut himself short when you looked at him sharply, not that he thought he was prepared to say it in the first place. 

_If looks could kill._

You turned your head back away from him slowly, forced yourself to do nothing but stare at illuminated numbers descending. "There's nothing to talk about."

* * *

The next night couldn't come fast enough. 

Your _situation_ had been all you could think about, consuming your every waking moment. Steve had been right, it was a problem, but it was a problem you sure as Hell weren't ready to deal with. Part of you knew that you should probably be lying low, give the escorting a break in order to compose your thoughts, but the other part of you welcomed and craved the distraction. 

A new client, a new beginning, the promise of bottomless drinks and the possibility of at least mediocre sex more likely than not. You had never met a problem that couldn't be solved, or at least heavily put off, by getting laid. 

Across the bridge in the heart of Brooklyn, the bar was filled to the brim with broke college students huddled around pool tables and drunk on happy-hour tequila, dark figures moving haphazardly under dim yellow lights. Aptly so, it was just your sort of crowd, and you let yourself release a content sigh as you looked around the room.

That's when you saw him, sitting at the bar just like he had been that first night, suit jacket reserving a stool beside him. He wasn't looking towards you, already nursing a shallow glass of amber brown liquid as he blankly stared off into the distance.

You were angry. Hell, you were _furious,_ the blood boiling, jaw clenched, fists and tense shoulders kind of furious.

It was the same irrational anger that compelled you to march over to the bar.

"Fucking Grant?" You asked, repeating the name of the New York accountant Steve had clearly made up to lure you there. There was malice in your tone. Fury and venom. You slammed your purse against the bar, unheard in the noise and bustle of the room. "Un-fucking-believable."

"Look, I know. But it was the only way I-"

"Vodka," You told the bartender as she approached, cutting Steve off mid-sentence. "Shots. Four." 

The bartender nodded without question, setting out four shot glasses in front of you and filling them with one swift pour. 

You set one in front of Steve, downed the other three like they were cold water on a hot Summer's day.

"I don't want your excuses," You stated as soon as the last shot burnt its way down your throat, not yet allowing you body to register the sudden shock to your system. You grasped the jacket on the stool behind you, tossed it onto the bar as you sat down. "Why am I here?"

"We can't just ignore it," Steve started. "We need to talk about it."

"What is there to fucking talk about?" You barked, turning to him so quickly you were sure you had burnt the bare skin of your thigh on the firm cushion of the stool. Your angry still, tipsy and out of your depth and oh so angry. "We fucked, is that what you want to hear? You hired me as a goddamn escort and we fucked and now were in this fucking _situation_ and I don't know what the Hell I'm supposed to do."

You regretted it as soon as you said it, drunken mouth moving too quickly for your brain to comprehend. You were breathing fast and heavy and looking Steve straight in the eye, both of you still and silent. 

You reached for the untouched shot in front of him, threw your head back with the burn and hoped it would help you calm down. 

The glass hit the bar with a solid thud, and you willed yourself to slow down the pace of your heart and breath. 

"I'm sorry for yelling," You said, still kind of yelling. You shifted, elbows on the bar with your head in your hands, fingers covering your eyes and rubbing at your temples. "I'm angry and I'm sorry for yelling."

"It's okay," Steve replied after a moment, contrastingly soft. "I shouldn't have tricked you into coming here. I'm sorry, too."

Silence from you, heavy breathing and head in hands as Steve watched you with concern.

"I won't tell your dad If that's what you're worried about. That was never an option."

You looked at him at that, not fully, turning your head slightly just so you could see him out of the corner of your eye. You closed your eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before lowering your arms and sitting up straight, looking at him properly. "Thank you."

* * *

You're not sure why you stayed, and neither is Steve. 

He was sure you had better things to do than drink away your problems with him in a sleazy Brooklyn bar. You were young and pretty, almost alarmingly younger than him at the ripe age of 23, and so strikingly beautiful it made his chest ache a little. You were still a _student_ for God's sake, a whole life and career in front of you. All the aspects of you combined pointed to you hailing the first cab you could find and escaping back to your apartment, but you had held your station beside him, pretended to be normal people as you drank and talked and drank some more. Steve had blamed it on the alcohol, not that he was complaining.

It had felt almost natural, unnaturally _natural._ It had evoked a dangerous feeling somewhere deep down in him. Yearning, maybe. Peace, content. Just a sliver of the happiness he thought had been snubbed out years ago. 

He cleared the hefty tab and offered to pay your fare home, share the thirty-minute ride back into Manhattan. He's surprised when you accept.

You told the driver your address, almost slurred it, find it locked away in the back of Steve's mind just in case. He scolds himself for the very stalker-eske behaviour, that is until your leaning back against the plush seats with a sigh and your hand is on his thigh.

It just sits there for a while, warm and gentle, causes much conflict in Steve's head as he tries to figure out what to do, thoughts utterly incoherent. 

He's saying your name before he realises what's happening. You turned to him with a smile, sweetest and kindest and prettiest he's ever seen. 

A soft squeeze when you kissed him, and the taste of you, sweet and bitter all at once just like the first night in his hotel room. 

It was only the one kiss, the only luxury you give him before your gaze is out the window again. 

It's the longest half hour of Steve's entire life, you warm next to him, lingering on his lips, hand set in place on his thigh.

The cab halted outside of an apartment building, the driver saying something unintelligible in your drunkenly groggy brains. 

"This is me," You said, almost a whisper in the early hour of the morning. You looked him in the eye, licked your lips as you gave another squeeze. "You could come up?"

Steve couldn't believe how much he wanted to say yes, every inch of him screaming for you. But even drunk his rational mind still dictated him. "You're drunk," He stated, knowing he would be taking advantage of you if he had accepted your offer. Knowing you would most likely regret it in the morning. "Next time," He whispers, and it's a promise he's willing to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about this chapter and the direction of the series so far! I hope you're loving reading it as much as I'm loving writing it!! Once again, kudos, comments, and feedback are much appreciated <3 Thanks for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is introduced to Y/N's art, and Y/N has a nasty fight with her dad.

Steve couldn't stop thinking about you, and if he was being honest it was starting to become a problem. The daydreaming, that is, the unrealistic fantasies and the staring out the window in the middle of a meeting with nothing but you in his head. 

He's halfway through a daydream, unengaged in a conversation with your dad when he hears your name. His ears perk up involuntarily, head-turning to face Tony. "Sorry?"

"You should come along," Tony continues, Steve scrambling to remember the last ten minutes of unregistered conversation. "You mentioned you own that gallery in D.C? She's stressed that nobody'll come. I'm sure she won't mind."

"Oh," Steve said, finally understanding what was going on, eyebrows raising in surprise. He knew that he should decline, that you probably wouldn't react kindly to him showing up out of nowhere, but  _ God _ was he going to take any excuse to see you again. "Yeah, sure, I'll be there."

Steve tells himself he's not going to go until the night of, but all of a sudden the clock is telling him it's a half-hour until your show and the mere thought of you make's him shift in his pants a little. It's unhealthy, really, and god is it desperate. 

He has to psyche himself up a little before he can go in, give an awkward smile to the people shooting him strange looks as they walk into the small gallery. He can see you from the window, bright and smiling and just as beautiful as ever. 

Tony greets him first, and he's almost thankful you don't notice him immediately. The room is full with a resounding majority of young people, much closer to your age than his. Your standing with your side to him, a girl with bright red hair standing in front of you, her smile wide as she looks at you and the dark-haired boy at your side. Steve notices with a little clench of his jaw that your arm is in his, and your standing almost uncomfortably close together. 

Steve watches as the girl's eyes flash towards him for a split second, know's his momentary cover had been blown. You turn your head towards him, smile falling into a set line after a moment of realisation, tense movements visible when you turn back to your friends.

It's the little pang in his chest that tells him it would be better to just leave, but the next second he's caught in conversation with Tony and knows all too well he has problems saying no to your family.

You ignore him for what feels like hours, walk around mingling with anyone,  _ everyone _ else while Steve starts to look around, follows the pieces of art lining the white-washed walls. They're not all yours, paintings spread amongst photos and intricate graphic designs that feel too intimate, feel too personal for him to be seeing, each piece a window in the mind he so desperately wants to understand.

Steve smells you before he sees you, cherry blossoms lingering in the air. Your silent in his peripheral vision, eyes fixed onto the painting in front of you. 

"This is-"

"Dad tells me-"

You speak over each other, your simultaneous start stopping you as soon as you began. 

Eye contact for a moment, a brief exchange before you're both laughing awkwardly at the ground. 

"I'm sorry about the cab," you say when you lift your head, unexpected, face serious and genuinely apologetic. "It was... cruel. And unfair of me."

Steve keeps his gaze down, unable to will himself to look at you. "I wasn't sure if you remembered."

"Call it a curse." More silence in the murmuring of the room, your lips pressed hard against each other and a harsh swallow when he finally looks at you. "I really am sorry."

Your dad is there before Steve can reply, a hand on each of your shoulders before he's pulling you away to meet another guest. 

There are stolen glances for the rest of the night, poorly hidden and utterly requited, pink cheeks turning back to other conversations. 

"I should get going," From behind you just as you've said goodbye to one of your classmates, and you can't help but tense just a little.

You turn and look around, see Pepper facing your general direction and tell yourself it's better safe than sorry. You reach out your hand. "Thank you for coming."

Steve takes your hand, touch and eyes lingering for just a little too long. "It was a pleasure."

You breathe a laugh, hand falling to your side as you take a step backwards. "I'll see you around," You smile, too wide and too giddy for the minuscule interaction.

Steve returns the smile, nods and laughs a "'Yeah," before he's walking out into the night with a glance behind his shoulder. 

* * *

"Please tell me I'm not reading this correctly." Your voice is stern as you barge into your dad's study, newspaper hitting his desk with a clap. 

He evades eye contact, leans back against his chair with a sigh as he clasps his hands in his lap. "Since when do you read newspapers?"

You're at a loss for words, unable to do anything but smile in disbelief at the calmness of his movements. "You're unbelievable."

Another sigh as he reaches for his glasses, pushes them high up his nose as he opens the newspaper with a flare and reads the headline aloud.  _ "Stark Industries announces upcoming mergers and acquisitions, includes supplier of US Armed Forces." _

He closes the paper again, folds it into quarters and places it back on his desk unfazed. 

"What do you want me to say?" He asks, eyes narrowed as he sits forward slightly. "It's business."

"God, you really are un- _ fucking- _ believable." You shake your head slowly, look down at him with confusion and furrowed eyebrows. "You're really doing this again? After everything that's happened?"

"What do you expect me to be doing, Y/N?" The tone in his voice is harsh and unexpected, catches you off guard for a split second before you get a hold of yourself, entire body tense. "You get to stop taking my money, sit on that high horse of yours with your superior morals and for what? Everything I've ever done has been for you, and for Morgan and Pepper. This has  _ all _ been for  _ you _ ."

"I never asked for any this!" You exclaim, breathing fast and heavy, suddenly aware of just how angry you were. You clench your fist tighter, almost shaking. "I never asked for- For private schools and nannies and a silver fucking spoon... All I ever wanted was a father, but I guess I lost him a while ago, didn't I."

You watch as his face falls, and would almost feel bad if you couldn't feel the tears start to prick the back of your eyes.

"I'm done with this," You sigh, already taking steps backwards. "I'm done with this fucking family."

He says your name as you turn, but you've already made up your mind.

You find yourself in the closest bar you can find, call for reinforcements and spend hours pity drinking with Nat and Peter. You yell through the music and the bustle and cry your gratefulness for them over cheap liquor, night turning to morning in a blur too fast to comprehend.

You didn't think your mattress had ever felt as comfortable as it did the next morning. You're buried in a swathe of sheets, too settled to move despite the throb of your skull. The sun is brighter, too, filtering through the window in a way you didn't know it could.

You groan as you shift positions slightly, force your eyes open just a little and- Oh. This was not your apartment. 

"You're awake."

_ Yeah, you knew that voice _ .

Your groan is louder, both hands moved to your face as your palms press hard against your eyes. You try to lie further back into the bed, will yourself to wake up from the nightmare or even just melt into the mattress. No luck.

"There's water and aspirin on the bedside table if you need it."

Silence for a moment, desperately trying to calm down the thumping and racing in your head. This was definitely on the mortifying side of the things you had done while drunk. "What happened last night?"

"Well," Steve starts, and you think there's almost humour in his voice. "You showed up around two in the morning trying to- I don't know, seduce me I guess. All I know is that you weren't making a lot of sense, and within about ten minutes had taken almost all of your clothes off and passed out in my bed."

You force yourself into a sitting position after another minute of humiliation, realise with not a lot of surprise that you're wearing nothing but your bra and underwear. You can't bring yourself to look at him, pulling covered legs up to your chest and resting your forehead on your knees. "I'm sorry," You say into the sheets, muffled.

There's quiet, and you can almost feel that pitying look in his eyes. "It's okay," He says, tone different, surprisingly soft. 

"It's really not." You lift your head at that, and you're taken aback by the sight of him in a shirt and sweatpants, suddenly aware you had only ever seen him in formalwear. 

You turn away, unable to hold eye contact for much longer, eyes set on the glass and pills sitting on the bedside table. "Thank you," You mutter as you reach for items, place a tablet on your tongue and welcome the cool water. 

"I'll let you, uh, get dressed," Steve says, taking a few strides to the door before stopping. "You know I really don't understand you."

You look across at him, swallowed as you prepared yourself for whatever reprimanding you so greatly deserved. 

"One minute you're apologising and the next your flirty and so nice it hurts and kissing me in the back of a cab and- I don't know. Making me feel like you would ever want me when you're not drunk."

You're surprised. Speechless and stuck and _god,_ you felt like a terrible person.

"Steve, I-" 

The door closed behind him with a soft click, chest aching as you fell back against the bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's back!!! It's been a crazy busy couple of weeks, but I've had this story in the back of my mind and have got loads more ideas for the future. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and the story so far! As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Thank you so much for reading!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Y/N really need to talk about it, or rather, Nat needs to force you to talk about it.

Steve comes at a bad time.

The end of the semester comes around the corner so fast you're winded trying to catch up, the preparation for finals something you've never been got at. 

Steve calls maybe a few too many times, knows it's desperate but can't seem to help himself. You don't answer, telling yourself its because you're busy but really you're just mortified, that fleeting conversation replaying over and over in your head. 

He feels bad about that morning, he really does. He knows he shouldn't feel bad, of course, that he has a habit of gaslighting himself and that his feelings were completely justified. But with confrontation comes the possibility that you'll take him for his word, that you never really wanted him and he'll never see you again and god, does some irrational part of him just need to _talk_ to you.

"Stop leading him on," Nat says, eagle eyes watching as you decline Steve's call and place your phone screen down on the table.

You're exhausted and bent over a plate full of lukewarm dining hall dinner and really, _really_ aren't in the mood to be having this conversation.

"This is me not leading him on," You defend, picking indifferently down at the plate.

" _No_ ," Nat starts, conviction in her tome. "Not leading him on would be telling him you're not interested. He thinks you like him, Y/N, he's not going to take nothing as an answer."

"I do like him!" You blurt out, oddly defensive, sigh when you watch Nat's eyebrows raise at you questioningly, almost condescending. "I... I don't not like him."

Nat sighs, shoving her plate to the side as she leans on the table with her arms crossed. "Pros and cons, don't think about it."

"What?"

"I said don't think about it, pros?"

Your sigh is deep as you mimic Nat's actions and push your plate away, entirely uninterested in eating. "He's... attractive, I guess?" Your expression is lost when Nat's eyebrows raise at you again, prompting you to keep going. "And sweet, and charming, and... he makes me smile and I don't know! I don't know, there's just something about him that makes me... impulsive. In a good way, though, spontaneous, maybe. Looser."

Nat _almost_ cracks a smile at that, and you know her well enough to know she's already made up her mind about your little situation. "Cons?"

"Well," You breath through a laugh, the list already compiled at the tip of your tongue. "He's fifteen years older than me, works with my dad, doesn't technically live in this state, and, oh yeah, we met through an escorting agency, which isn't so much a con as a lovely little cherry on top."

Nat does actually smile then, leans back in her chair with her arms still cross and that all-knowing look on her face.

"I see you've come to a conclusion."

"I have a diagnosis, it's true."

"Well, come on then."

Nat leans forward again, further towards you this time, makes sure to look you right in the eye. "You like him, but you're too afraid to admit it to either me or yourself because you don't want to face the consequences."

You're silent for a second, swallow hard as you look at her. Nat was never wrong. "And what am I meant to do with this information?"

"Simple," Nat says, back against the chair now, smug smirk adorned. "Text him."

You're the one to raise your eyebrows now, a surprised laugh leaving your lips. "I'm not texting him."

"Fine, I'll do it for you."

It's a blur as Nat stands up and snatches your phone from beside you, lighting fast reflexes to fast for the desperate grabbing motion you make after registering what was happening.

"Nat!"

"This is for your own good, Y/N," She says, downright condescending this time, self-satisfied smile looking down at your lock screen. "Password still Morgan's birthday?"

Fine, you were predictable. That one was on you. "Nat I swear to god-"

"What?" There's a flurry of typing as Nat find Steve's contact, message and send done within a matter of seconds. "You can thank me later."

Nat turns off your phone, offers it back to you like everything was fine when everything _was certainly not fine_.

You maintain your glare as you quickly unlock your phone, read the last message with your mouth agape and the sound of your heart beating hard in your chest.

_I've been thinking about the other day... Come over later tonight?_

"You've got to be kidding me."

Three little dots, going on and on and on until-

_... You're not drunk, are you?_

You sigh, defeated, hold you head in your hands as you answer Nat's "What did he say?" by handing her your phone.

"I can't do this."

The sound of her typing seems to ring in your ears, nails against glass and the little whirl of the send button.

Another delay, silence before there's a reply and you're head shoots up, breath held at the back of your throat. 

"What time?"

"What?"

"He said yes, what time?"

Panic, pure panic flowing through your veins as you widen your eyes at her, nothing coming out when you try to speak.

"I'll say 8:30," She smiles, too nonchalant for comfort.

One last whirl and she's handing your phone back with a smile. "What are you waiting for? Go get your man."

* * *

  
"Hi."

You're a sight for sore eyes. Not-to-short skirt, a nice top, casual, he thinks, even though the lipstick tells him otherwise. You're smiling at him, too, and Steve is almost comforted to find that it's just as nervous as his. 

He still doesn't know what to expect from the night even as he's being invited in.

Your apartment is a tasteful mess, cluttered with art and books and so many nick-nacks Steve thinks he'll never understand someone more than he does at this moment. Living room and bedroom and kitchen are combined in one crowded space in that overpriced New York fashion, but it's nice, unique, shows Steve an intimate snapshot of your brain.

"Sorry about the mess," You start, irrationally nervous, back pressed against your front door as you close it. "It was either clean or be presentable so..."

"It's cute," Steve says, smiles at you behind his shoulder and you blush so hard you think you're eighteen again.

"It's tiny and overpriced," You correct, willing yourself to loosen up just a little. "But at least it's mine... And yeah, it's cute."

Steve turns, suppresses a smile when he sees the pink in your cheeks. "I brought wine."

"Oh, thanks." Your hand grazes his when you grasp the bottle by the neck, utterly intentional, the tiny action sending a shiver up Steve's spine. Skin on skin for just a second, and that knowing look in your eye. "I'll go open this."

Steve's eyes follow you as you walk into the kitchen, reach up to open a cabinet and grab two wine glasses off of the top shelf. There's a flash of skin as you lift your arm and Steve clenches his jaw instinctively, too tense as he starts to walk towards the kitchen island.

"Listen," He starts, feeling the heaviness in his chest. So many things to say, and no idea where to start. "About that morning, I shouldn't have-"

"No, I-" You interrupt, stopping with a grimace as you set the bottle and glasses onto the island and look him in the eye. You falter for a moment, silence as your words fail you. "You were right. I was leading you on and it wasn't fair. And I'm sorry... If you felt like I could only ever like you when, I don't know, when I'm not thinking straight."

Steve can't help to hold his breath as he watches you, strikingly aware of the two directions this could go.

You look down, try to muster as much courage as you can before you say what you know needs to be said. "But it's not true," You say, words almost catching in your throat. "I do like you, Steve. I really do, no matter how... terrifying that is for me to admit."

Steve's silent, dumbfounded, a deer caught in headlights frozen and unaware of where to go.

"There are so many reasons this wouldn't work," Steve says, almost a whisper, surprised at his rationality when you're literally in front of him offering yourself, telling him things he could only hope to dream about not too long ago. But it's that little nagging voice in the back of his head that says it, the same voice that's always been self-destructive and logical when anything but was needed. 

"I know," You match his tone, and the look on your face makes Steve think he's already ruined it. But then you're walking out from behind the island, eyes on the ground as you move in front of him. You're still for a moment, silent until all of a sudden you're taking his hands and looking up at him. "But life's short, right?"

Steve's lips are on yours before he can even think about it, and you're all too happy to kiss him back. You smile against him, arms around his neck and a hand in his hair as his hands settle on your hips, a gentle grip pushing you against him. You pull back slightly, catch a few more kisses before you're looking at him with flushed cheeks. "Did you still want that wine?"

* * *

Steve has never been this content in his entire life. 

The next morning is bliss, heaven, cloud nine in the shape of a sun-kissed apartment and a beautiful woman in his arms. He's warm, too, inside and out, bare skin against bare skin in the late hours of the morning.

"You're staring," You murmur, voice thick with sleep.

Steve smiles, watches as you slowly open one eye and then tightly squeeze them shut again. "And you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

You groan almost automatically, pull a face before letting a laugh slip, eyes still closed. You move closer, stretch your arm across the smooth skin of his chest as you release a comfortable sigh. "Too early to be this cheesy."

"Okay," Steve smiles, pressing the ghost of a kiss to your forehead. "I'll save it for later."

You force your eyes open gradually, push away the tiredness and find yourself tracing the long scar right underneath his collarbone. There are others, too, you notice with dismay, fine and barely visible littered across his torso. You hadn't noticed them in the darkness of the previous night, or even your first night together, for that matter. 

"Plane crash," Steve says without needing to be asked, voice soft and breathy and quiet. "When I was in the Marines."

You're silent for a second, touch gentle over the calloused skin. "How old were you?" You ask, concern for an accident long passed evident in your eyes. 

"Twenty-six," He says, shifting to press his forehead against yours. "It was a long time ago."

You smile, though there's still concern laced in it, lean up and kiss him so sweetly Steve's sure it could make his teeth rot.

There's a hand on your cheek, deepening when it slips into your hair and down the back of your neck.

You're interrupted by the ring of your phone on the nightstand. 

You laugh against each other at the same time, steal one last kiss before you roll over and pick up your phone, sigh deep when you see the contact and immediately decline the call.

"Still not talking to him?"

You pull another face, scrunch up your nose and smile with embarrassment. "You know about that?"

"I may have overheard," He says, slightly teasing but now it's his turn to be concerned. "Wanna talk about it?" 

You look back up at the ceiling, think back to that fateful night with distaste and consequences to be faced at a later date. "Not particularly."

"Change the subject?"

"Please."

Steve's on top of you in a blur, forcing you to let him settle between your legs while he rests on his elbows, looking down at you. The movement leaves you bouncing on the mattress, and you can't help the laugh that escapes you.

"Can I suggest something that you absolutely don't need to agree to?" Steve asks, face hovering just inches above yours.

You furrow your eyebrows in a mixture of confusion and suspicion, the list of possibilities already long and various running through your head. "Okay?"

"I'm driving back to D.C. in two days, just until the end of the week. I was thinking that... you know, if you wanted to... you could join me?"

You smile up at him at that, beaming like a child who's just been told they're going to Disneyland. "Are you inviting me on a road trip?"

Steve laughs, dips his head for a second before his eyes meet yours again. "I guess so."

You're still smiling, seemingly unable to stop as you lean up and kiss him swiftly. "I would love nothing more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And she's back with another chapter!! Let me know what you thought about this chapter and how the story is going so far, and thank you so much for the support on this series! All of your feedback and love really does keep me motivated, so I'm so incredibly grateful for each and every one of you  
> As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated. Thank you for reading!! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains smut, though it's more of a mention than anything graphic!

"This _cannot_ be your car."

Steve, clad in jeans and a too-tight shirt and that blindingly bright smile, leans against one of the most _ridiculously_ old-fashioned cars you've ever seen. It's a deep bright red, black convertible top, freshly polished surface reflecting harsh afternoon sun as if it was brand new, though it's all too obvious that the vehicle was at least 50 years old. It stands out like a sore thumb in the concrete and glass of your neighbourhood, the type of car that even you, non-existent car knowledge and all, would stand and stare at if you saw it driving past.

"1967 Chevrolet Camero Convertible," Steve says with the tone of a man well versed in the subject of all things cars. He laughs when he watches you start down the stairs towards him, the incredulous raise of your eyebrows telling him you're both a little impressed and also have no idea what he's talking about.

"That means _absolutely_ nothing to me," You admit, standing in front of him now, leaning up to press a sweet kiss to his lips. "But it's a very nice car."

The drive is a long one, but it's made much more bearable by good company. You shake the oddness of the stares of passersby - alarmed and delighted to see the spectacle of a vehicle glide past them - surprisingly quickly, almost enjoying the attention by the time you reach your first strip of highway.

The silence that settles between you is comfortable, calm, nothing much to talk about when everything is fresh summer air in your hair, the welcoming cool of it flushing your cheeks and the tip of your nose, head back and eyes closed to the bright sky and the heated sun as Steve's hand rests on your thigh. You filter through the hefty collection of CDs sat in the glovebox, nothing surpassing the late 70s, Steve's smile warm every time you know a song just well enough to sing along.

You stretch your legs in Philidelphia, take a slight detour and find yourself laughing over cream cheese bagels and ice cream on the steps of the art museum, kill an easy hour hand in hand through high-ceiling white-walled galleries. 

There's dinner at a diner just outside of D.C that Steve swears by, upholstered seats and waitress aprons straight out of the 50s, almost comically old-timey. There are plates of greasy food and vanilla milkshakes in front of you just as fast as you order them, deliciously unhealthy and worth it just to see Steve relax into the familiar environment. 

The sky is a deep navy blue by the time you get to his apartment, air heavy with the promise of rain.

It's open plan and spacious, all clean lines and glass overlooking a strikingly beautiful view of city lights.

"Steve, this is-"

"It's nice, right?" Steve smiles, the look of sheer pride on his face making you laugh.

It's only a one-bedroom apartment, but you're sure it's probably three times the size of your own. The bedroom comes complete with an ensuite, walk-in shower and monogrammed Egyptian cotton towels, king bed and sheets with the highest thread count you've ever felt. It's a surprise, at first, comes through as a reality check reminding you just how _wealthy_ Steve really is, the reluctant acknowledgement that he's made money on the same general business you're condemning your dad for dealing.

But ignorance is bliss, for that night at least, and it really was bliss.

* * *

Steve wakes up early the next morning, sunlight filtering into the room in cool pools gathering beneath the windows, damp with the light monotonous drizzle of rain outside.

You're already awake, knees bent up beneath the heavy duvet and a sketchbook rested against your upper thighs. You scribbling away furiously, though there's a gentle thoughtfulness in your movement, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

You angled towards him slightly, and Steve doesn't realise exactly what you're drawing until he watches your eyes move over to him. You smile when you see him awake, caught red-handed and shameless.

Steve returns the smile as he closes his eyes again, heavy with tiredness, and sinks deeper into the mattress. "What time is it?" He asks, eyes still closed.

You look over your shoulder at the clock rested on the bedside table, glance at the electric red numbers too bright for the time it reads before Steve hears the scratch of pencil against paper resume. "Just after six," you say, earning a deep groan from Steve as he buries his face into the pillow.

" _Stop moving_ ," You say, the demand lightened by the laugh that follows it.

Steve turns his head, now back in his original position with a smile and a tentative gaze.

There's silence for a few long moments, concentrated eyes softened by amused ones each time you steal glances at him before returning to your sketch.

Steve is beautiful, he truly is, all sharp lights and smooth muscle and dirty blond hair tussled in the cool sunlight. Blue eyes stare up at you, endearing, hypnotizing, calling for you to meet them like a siren's song in the fog. 

"Can I see?" He asks, and the surprised laugh you release in immediate response just makes him smile even more. 

"Absolutely not."

"Oh _come on_ ," Steve whines, though his tone is still playful and coarse with sleep. "A small repayment for the unsuspecting model."

He's successful in diverting your attention, pencil balanced delicately in your fingers as you look at him with your head titled. There's a coyness in your eyes, entertainment. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," You offer, teasing and smiling wickedly sweet.

Steve's cheeks flush lightly, almost invisible in the slowly rising light but noticeable enough for you to know you've caught him off guard. "I don't what you're talking about."

It's a weak attempt, and he knows it'll go right through you even as the words are leaving his mouth. He had gone to your show under the pretence of owning an art gallery, after all, and it was easy enough to deduce he was the occasional artist himself.

"Oh _come on_ ," You mimick, and the look you give him is so beautifully convincing that he has to give in.

He groans a little, the sound making you laugh lightly, and you're almost surprised that all he has to do is reach under the bed before he's sitting up and producing a small book, it's black hardcover inconspicuous to the untrained eye. 

You smile wider now, anticipating, close your own sketchbook and hold it out to him, the other hand open and gesturing for his.

He pulls the book back suddenly, holds it close to his heart against his bare chest. "Don't make fun of me," He says, only half-joking, and you let your smile fall slightly and your mouth hang open. 

"I'm not gonna make fun of you, Steve," you say as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion you had ever heard, outstretched hand moving closer towards him.

Steve moves forward quickly, without warning, lips on yours in a heartbeat. You smile against it, kiss him back and reach for the small black book, dropping yours in his lap as you pull back, attempt successful.

He makes a noise of objection as you turn and open the book, his eyes cautiously watching you.

Steve is unsurprised by your sketches, messy yet delicately crafted, though he still finds himself dumbfounded by your talent, the way your creations come to life on the page. His chest swells when he sees the drawing of himself, the image so light and gentle and precise.

You, on the other hand, are utterly delighted at Steve's little book of wonders. You're beaming down at it as you flip through the pages, fingers tracing the small sketches and designs thrown across the paper. Their cute, mostly, lighthearted, though you start to note the meaning behind them as you go on, darker ones every once in a while, monkey's clad in military uniform and planes falling out of the sky.

The woman on the next page makes your heart ache a little. She's smiling, warm and loving, blue, kind eyes, _Steve's_ eyes, beautiful and striking. There's another portrait beside her, this one a man with long dark hair and the same warm smile.

"Is this your mom?" You ask him, expression changed now, softer, not needing the reply to know the answer. 

Steve nods slowly, silent as his eyes drift from you to the drawing. "She died when I was eighteen," He says, low and solemn, and moves closer to run his fingers over the other image. "And this one's Bucky. He was an old friend of mine, we grew up together, joined together, died the year before I was in that crash."

You swear you could cry at any second, the way he looks at those faces on the page with so much love and so much sadness. 

You shift, reach for your phone on the nightstand, and for a moment he thinks you're about to take a photo when you pop off the case and slide a small photo - a young woman, almost too young, in front of the ocean, sun hat and bikini, smiling wide with a toddler in her arms - out from behind it. 

You pass it to him, knowing eyes meeting. "My Mom and I when I was little," You explain, reminiscent of a time you no longer remembered. "I was six when she died." Silence, almost eerie with the fall of the rain behind you, and then "I know what it's like."

Steve kisses you, sweet and tender with a hand on your cheek. You're both just there for a moment, together with that same heavy feeling in your chests and tightness in your throats. You smile against him a little, small and oh so sad. "God," You laugh, arms tight around each other in an instant. "What a pair we make."

* * *

You spend the whole day at the Smithsonian while Steve is at work. You had other plans initially, stop by a few spots and a nice cafe Nat had recommended, but all of a sudden you've spent an hour at the American Art Museum and another back in your childhood at the Natural History Museum and you just give in.

Steve is cooking when you get back to the apartment around sunset. You can hear laughing and another voice at the door and find that you've completely forgotten the plans to have dinner with a friend of his that night.

"Hello!" You greet as you close the front door, customer service level bright tone directed at both Steve and the unidentified man situated at the kitchen island.

"Oh, you're back!" Steve exclaims, almost too enthusiastic, stopping himself mid-laugh.

You walk past the man at the island and towards Steve, facing you now as he turns his back to the stovetop. "Hey," you smile, Steve leaning down for a sweet kiss chaste on your lips. It was strange and oddly liberating, kissing Steve so casually, in front of another person, after spending the past few weeks pretending you didn't know each other.

"Y/N, this is Sam Wilson," He introduces, both of you turning towards the island. "He's an old army buddy."

"It's nice to meet you," He says, standing to shake your hand. His smile is warm, eyes kind and tone incredibly welcoming, and you already know you're going to like him.

"Likewise," You say, firm handshake and a friendly exchange of smiles. "You'll have to excuse me, I've been walking around all day, I'll just go get changed and be right back."

You change into something a little nicer, less sweaty from hours walking and hot sun. 

Your hand is on the doorknob of the bedroom when you hear Sam start, the urge of just a little bit of eavesdropping to too strong to suppress. 

"She's nice," He says, quiet and clearly trying to keep his voice down but just clear enough for you to make out.

"I'm glad you like her," Comes Steve, a surge of sizzling from the frying pan limiting your understanding of what comes next.

"- careful, man," Sam continues, tone genuinely concerned. "You don't want another Sharon situation on your hands."

You open the door then, feigning unawareness of the conversion abruptly ended, even more confused when you notice Steve's flurried movements to get back to cooking, a schoolboy about to cheat on a test the moment the teacher looks up.

You try not to think about, tell yourself you're not going to be _that person_ , the person obsessing over the other's exes, needing to know the details better left dead and forgotten. 

You succeed for a while, talk and laugh over dinner and wine, but you can't help it when it comes up every once in awhile, nagging and persistent at the back of your mind.

Steve isn't so oblivious he can't notice that something's wrong, but there's only so much he can do when you insist everything is great. You put on the face well, too, just when you're a little too lost in your own thoughts and you give him that smile that makes him melt in his seat.

He almost thinks everything really is great after you say your goodbyes to Sam, both a little tipsy and dancing in the kitchen over the dishes, laughing into wine-stained kisses.

That night you're rough, on top, nails dug into his back and teeth sinking lightly into his shoulder. You're more vocal than you normally are too, demanding, selfish, slap him and tug at his hair without a second thought. He doesn't mind, of course. He would let you do anything to him as long as it meant doing it with you. Steve knows it doesn't mean anything good. It's angry and almost too rough, not like you, feels more like a hate fuck than anything else. But then you're breathing heavy and swearing his praise and kissing him so sweet he doesn't know what to think.

Steve wakes up the next morning in a cold bed, the sun in his eyes and the smell of pancakes wafting throughout the apartment. 

You're wearing his shirt and ladling a scoop of batter into the frying pan when he leaves the bedroom for the kitchen. You don't hear him coming, that or you choose to ignore him, not responding until there are strong arms are around your waist and he's pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck and whispering a "good morning" in your ear, breathing in the smell of his shampoo in your hair.

"What's wrong?" He asks when he notices tense shoulders relax against him, lips still lingering at your neck.

"Nothing," You say with the flip of a pancake, sigh deep and lean back into him. "Nothing at all."

Steve doesn't believe you, but he has no choice but to stop thinking when you turn - just your head at first, then all the way - and kiss him, let the pancake sizzle and burn in the pan when you deepen it, let him take you bent over his kitchen counter, let yourself push any thought of _her_ out of your mind. 

* * *

"Hey." There's a light tug at your wrist as you walk past him, sat on the edge of the bed with a duffle bag open beside him, and you let Steve pull you into his lap with a sigh. "Are you sure everything okay?"

It's set to be your last day in D.C, and you've been acting off since that dinner with Sam. Steve's tried everything, little gifts and sightseeing and excursions to fancy restaurants, but they seem to be only temporary sedation to something that's clearly weighing heavy on your mind. 

You rest your arms around his neck, his own encircling your waist, hands spread wide against your lower back. "Can I ask you a question that's absolutely none of my business and you don't have to answer?"

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, the look he gives you laced with concern. "If it'll make you feel better, of course."

You sigh again, deep and reluctant, advert your eyes before looking back at him. "Who's Sharon?" Steve's mouth falls open a little, his starts ready on the tip of his tongue, and your quick to explain before he can ask. "I overheard Sam mention it the other night. It's none of my business, really, but- I don't know, it's like I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

Steve's expression changes then, unexpectedly, relief flooding his features. "You could have just asked, you know?"

"I know- I know!" You repeat, forced to laugh a little when he raises his eyebrows at you. "I know. It just felt weird trying to bringing it up."

Steve's silent for a second, brings one hand up to your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheekbone before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, almost reassuring. "She's an ex, that's all. A- I don't know, a rebound after I got divorced."

"He _warned_ you, Steve," You pressed, recalling Sam's cautious advice. "That doesn't just sound like a rebound to me."

It's Steve's turn to sigh then, heavy with a slight slump of his shoulders. "She was... Also younger than me when it happened, got attached without realising I wasn't trying to get into another relationship right after a divorce. It got kind of ugly, but that was a _long time_ ago, Y/N.'

You look at him for a moment, that expression still confused and questioning on your face. "That's it?"

"That's it," Steve repeats, shaking his head slightly. "But that was different. _This_ is _so different_. I've never met anyone who makes me feel what you make me feel."

It's so heartfelt you can't even laugh at how cheesy it is, arms tight around him as you kiss him hard, that sick feeling at the bottom of your stomach telling you you still don't know the whole story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!!! This one's a little longer than normal, I had so many ideas I wanted to stuff into this one!! I really hope you enjoyed this one, it's one of the one's I knew I wanted to write as soon as I had the idea for the series.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! I can't express how grateful I am for the support I've already received, thank you for reading!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious woman shows up to give Y/N a word of warning.

Steve's head is pounding, aching all over as he sits on the lone stool at your little kitchen island, elbows bent with head in his hands, steam and the bitter-sweet scent of hot coffee flowing straight into his nostrils.

"You look miserable."

Your voice is teasing, comes far away from your spot across the room, slightly concerned but mostly just amused by the sight of the man in your kitchen. It rings through his head and bounces around the walls of his skull and shoots a fresh pang of pain through his temples. "I don't know how you're not," Steve says begrudgingly, taking a slow sip of his coffee. It's cheap and burnt and bitter on his tongue in that very distinctive _you_ way but admittedly does next to nothing to ease his hangover. "I can't believe you talked me into a _drinking game_... I'm too old for this shit."

He looks over at you when you giggle, the sound light and melodic to his ears. You're sat at an easel by the window, the skeleton of a painting fresh on your canvas, delicate brushstrokes as you set back into that concentrated expression. 

It's an impulse decision to get up and walk towards you, any movement other than complete stillness wreaking havoc on his nervous system. Everything seems to feel better when his arms are loose around your waist, head in the crook of your neck.

"I'm gonna get paint on you," You say, more of a stated certainty rather than a warning.

A kiss against your neck, leading slowly down your shoulder, hot air against your skin as Steve breathes a laugh. "Don't care."

There's a finger along your jaw, and you turn your head slightly to give Steve access to you, the kiss soft and sweet.

He's in love with you. He knows it right then, with that warm yellow light washing over you and that laugh still vivid in his head and the taste of you fresh on his tongue. And how easy it would be to say it, whisper it under your ear as you turn back to the canvas and rest your hand on top of his and-

There's a ring from inside your pocket, the sound bringing back that pang that makes him wince a little. Your hand lingers over the screen for a moment before you decide against it, declining the call and placing the phone amongst the art supplies on the small table beside you.

"Who was it?" Steve asks, the shadow of a beard and the warm breath against your neck making you laugh a little, shifting against the ticklish sensation.

"Just Peter," You say, shifting again with a smile and returning to your painting. "I'll call him back later."

"You and Peter," Steve starts, and the words are out of his mouth before he really knows where he's going, brain still foggy as he draws his arms away from you and makes the few steps to fall back into your couch. It makes the thumping in his head just that little bit worse. "Did you used to date or something?"

Steve doesn't think he's ever seen you move as quickly as you do when you swivel around in that stool. 

The look on your face immediately makes him regret asking the question, mouth agape, brows furrowed and eyes a combination of shocked and confused. 

"Why would you think we ever dated?" You ask, done almost offended. The paintbrush balanced precariously between your fingers falls then, a thin splash of paint across the hardwood floor that you make no movement to clean up.

Steve opens his mouth to speak, a motion of defence unable to be spoken as he finds nothing coming out. He's not even completely sure why the thought crossed his mind. He had thought it that night at your show if he was being honest, the way you stood so close together, so comfortable and casual with your arms linked and that smile bright on your face. "I don't know," Steve responds, and he truly doesn't, on the spot and defensive. "I just- The way he looks at you sometimes, It just made me wonder."

"The way he _looks_ at me?" You're leaning forward in your seat, expression still utterly lost, with an urgency in your voice that gives your own little hint of defensiveness. "How do you think he _looks_ at me?"

"I don't know!" Steve repeats, in over his head, tone now matching yours. "Like he's in love with you. Like I look at you."

It takes a moment for your look to change then, eyebrows shifting from drawn to raised with a slow curve of your lips. "That was smooth," You admit, slipping off the stool and walking towards him, knees on either side of his hips as you lower yourself onto his lap. "That was a smooth save. It almost sounded like you were a little jealous there."

Steve's brain is moving too quickly to fully register you, still comprehending the fact he just said _that_. "I didn't mean-" _I didn't mean I'm actually in love with you._

It was a lie. Steve was very much in love with you.

"I know," You cut him off, an understanding smile and a warm kiss that makes him relax under you

"I don't get jealous," Steve says into it, aching momentarily eased. Another lie.

"Oh?" You ask, sarcastic, one last swift peck before you're resting your hands on his shoulders. "I've known Peter since ninth grade," You start, smile falling a little so to be as serious and reassuring as possible. "He's my best friend, but that's all he's ever been. Okay?"

Another swift capture of your lips that forces the smile back onto your face, a hold around your waist so comforting you melt into it. "Okay."

* * *

There's a woman at your doorstep when you get back from your Dad's.

You hadn't seen Morgan in so long it had left you feeling a little empty, as though you were missing something that had been such a staple in your everyday life. You hadn't expected much from your father when you arrived, cold stares and monosyllabic sentences typical when you were fighting. Which is why you had been so surprised when he had hugged you, a rare enough experience on good occasions, talk of pulling deals and doing better and apologies still so fresh in your mind you almost hadn't noticed her until you were at the foot of the stairs.

She's pretty, most likely on the mid to later side of thirty, perfectly curled brown hair, hands clutched tightly around a purse and a flash of bright red lipstick when she turns to you.

"Are you Y/N Stark?" 

You're taken aback on multiple fronts, both that she knows your name and that she spoke with that _accent,_ eloquent and posh and so British you thought people only sounded like that in the movies. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you all too well." There's silence for a moment, so confused you're unsure of what you're supposed to say in return. 

"What did you say your name was, again?"

"Margaret," She introduces, smile flat and tight-lipped. "But most people call me Peggy."

 _Oh_. "Oh." Of all the things that could have happened today, and this. "You're-"

"The ex-wife, yes." She maintains that same expression, smile tight and ears perked up behind her hair, pulling the skin at her temples taught and raising her eyebrows just that little bit. It's unnerving, disquieting, makes you want to narrow your eyes at her and walk away and pretend none of this ever happened.

"How do you know where I live?"

"You must know, I don't come here out of malicious intent," She starts, completely ignoring the question. She makes a small step towards you, just at the top of the stairs, and the step you take backwards is instinctive. "This isn't pettiness - or jealousy - I came here to warn you before he can do what he did all over again."

"Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?" You ask, cautious but undoubtedly interested as you take the first step of the stairs towards her.

"Tell me, what has he told you about Sharon?"

The name is heavy in your chest as you tense, straighten your posture and clench your jaw and tighten your grip around the handrail. "That she's an ex," You say, unaware as to why you're humouring her, the knowledge that this was really none of your business suppressed by your intrigue.

"Nothing else?" She asks, her tone confirming your suspicious that there had been something Steve wasn't telling you about. The sigh she releases as you shake your head only worries you more. 

"Who is she?" The question comes out against your better judgement, appealing to the thoughts that had crossed your mind more than once since getting back from DC.

"Sharon Carter in my niece, Y/N."

You think the blood drains from your face when you hear it, knuckles white against the railing as your filled with the urge to scream or cry or be sick or all at once. "She's you're _what?"_

"Listen," She starts, moving a step down to you, the soft click of her heels against the concrete. "I know this is hard to here, it was hard for me to realise too, but this is what he _does_ Y/N. They were both adults, it's true, and we were already divorced but it doesn't change that the fact that this is who he is. Someone who takes advantage of women - women much younger than himself - and tricks them, _manipulates_ them into thinking they need him, that he cares for them when he never has."

The look she gives you tells you she's either telling you the complete truth or that she's an extremely good liar. Either way, you're sure you never want to see her again. "I think you should go now," You say, adverting your eyes as you follow the handrail up the stairs and delve your hand into your pocket for your keys.

"Be careful, Y/N," She says from behind you, the way she says your name nauseating as you fumble to unlock your door. "Don't make the same mistakes my niece made."

* * *

"Oh, hi. I didn't know you were coming over."

 _The way he looks at you_. It makes your chest ache a little, and for a moment your incapable of believing he's truly the man that woman had made him out to be. 

The smile you give him isn't forced, isn't fake, but it's tinged with a sadness you can't suppress. "I was in the neighbourhood," You lie, welcoming the sweet kiss he gives you, drawing it out for just an instant too long.

"I have good news," He smiles, so genuine it hurts as he steps aside and lets you walk into the hotel room.

"Oh?" You ask, preoccupied and unable to conjure enough false enthusiasm as you follow him over to the couch. 

It's strange being back here, in the place where it all started.

"I got offered a job, here in New York." He's angled towards you, with that smile and those eyes no sane person could ever resist, and you're so caught up in your own thoughts you can hardly even register what he's saying. "You don't look glad."

"No, I- I've been all over the place today, sorry." You shake yourself out of it, brighten your eyes and your smiles and bend your knee on the couch to face him. You take his hand in both of yours. "That's great, really."

Steve narrows his eyes at you then, knows there's something going on you're not telling him. "So you think I should take it?" He asks, watching you with caution.

"Do you want to take it?"

"To stay closer to you, of course, I do," He says, and the pained look you have to avert makes Steve swallow hard. 

You're silent, eyes down as you run your thumb back and forth across his palm.

"Hey." A finger beneath your chin tilting your head back up to him, a gentle caress against your cheek. "What's wrong?"

More silence, and then a look in your eye that makes his heart sink. "Have you told me everything, about what happened with Sharon?" 

He knew it was coming, like some primal sense deep down that had told him this would all come back to him eventually. But he's unwilling, and mostly just a coward, and now lie about it is the only thing he can do. "Of course."

You draw back abruptly, letting go of his hand and straightening up on the couch. You look ahead for a moment, quiet before clearing your throat and standing. "I should go."

"Y/N, wait." He makes a movement for your hand that you recoil immediately, move away from him with such a suddenness he knows there's no way of saving this.

"I know what happened, Steve," You say, looking him in the eye now, and hearing out loud what he had already suspected makes his chest tight. "I know she was your niece."

"Y/N, I can-" He stands up, makes another motion towards you that you step away from.

"I don't want an explanation, or an excuse, or anything you can twist to just keep lying to me." You're breathing heavy now, fists clenched tight with the rapid rise and fall of your chest. "I want to know why you couldn't just _tell me._ And why you just lied to my face about it _again_."

"Because of this!" He exclaims, and now he's desperate, grasping for something, anything that could even attempt to fix this. "Because of the way you're looking at me like- Like I'm sick, like I'm a disgusting person. I couldn't stand the thought of you seeing me that way, in a way I'm _not_."

You feel them before you realise you're crying, warm and wet and few rolling slowing down your cheeks and stinging your eyes. "I was so ready to give you the benefit of the doubt," You choke out, shaking your head. "I wanted to trust you so badly."

"Y/N-"

"Don't take the job," You say, compose a blank expression and take a step back. "There's nothing left for you here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you, this one was painful to write. Let me know what you thought about this chapter, and what you think might happen next! I'm super excited for what's to come, and am only expecting another three or four chapters of this series if everything goes according to plan!   
> As always, kudos, comments, and support are greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for reading!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N's ways of getting over Steve are maybe just a little unhealthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains smut!! Unprotected sex, fingering, degradation kink if you squint, cheating if you squint (?)

It's been three weeks since that night, and Steve is still all you can think about.

It's constant, a presence in the back of your mind refusing to go away for even an instant, haunting your every conscious and unconscious moment. 

It's not entirely bad, either, which maybe makes it worse. True whenever he would break his way into your active memory it would be characterised by anger, heavy feelings that tug violently in your chest and thoughts that make you nauseous, but every so often you would catch yourself missing him, missing the sound of his voice in the early hours of the morning and his gentle touches in the dead of night. It had certainly made it harder to hate him.

You fall back into drinking a little too much until a little too late and selling yourself to men who don't deserve you. But its a welcome distraction, gets you a little extra cash and makes you feel good again, even if only for a few hours a week. 

"Are you still thinking about it?"

Peter's voice breaks you out of it, familiar and kind and just what you need. He takes a seat beside you on his couch, passing you a beer that stings cold against you skin. There were few things you hated more than the taste of beer, but you had since concluded that anything alcoholic was worth accepting.

"No," You lie, taking a swig of the bottle as you press yourself further back into the dense cushions.

"Y/N," He says, a deep sigh when it elicits no response as you maintain your gaze straight ahead. " _Y/N._ "

You raise your eyebrows at him in reply.

Another sigh, and the pity in the look he gives you almost makes you sick. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You scoff automatically, take another long drink and turn back to the TV, already starting to push the notion out of your head. 

He puts his hand on yours with another hum of your name and you look at him, see in his eyes how much he cares about you and maybe its the fact that your a little tipsy - all the wine and the beer and the head start you had gotten at home finally catching up to you - or maybe its that no matter who you have in your bed you've been unable to shake the deep sense of loneliness permeating your everyday life, but either way the sudden urge to kiss him is so strong you can't resist it. 

He tastes like beer and dinner and mouthwash and exactly how you had imagined, not that you had given it much thought over the years. He tastes wrong, more than anything, tastes like a bad idea realised too late.

The pause between you is only an instant long before he's kissing you back and _fuck_ , now this is really happening, now there's no going back.

Both of his hands are cupping your jaw and his cheeks flush so hot you can feel the warmth against your own, makes you smile against him because you get used to the feeling of kissing your best friend alarmingly fast.

You pull away to put your beer down on the dark wooden floor and when you're back you're in his lap, that sedated logical part of your brain telling you there's still time to stop while the rest of you can't help but relish in the touch of someone who just loves you.

You place reluctant hands your hips, smile when they give a light squeeze and become a little less cautious and all of a sudden there's a pressure pressing up into you from below and you finally snap out of it.

You pull away with a sigh and the way he looks up at you, a desperate man just given everything he's ever asked for and- _good God, what have you done?_

* * *

You don't have sex with Peter that night, or the night after that, or the night after that because kissing may be one thing, but the concept of screwing your best friend still makes your skin crawl a little. 

You feel disgusting, know that you're leading him on in the most heartless way possible and that the love you have for each other is very much a different kind of love. You feel disgusting because Nat is looking at you like your disgusting, sat across from you and Peter with his arm around your waist in the middle of your dad's living room, in the middle of a work function you invited them to.

It's less of a work function and more of a party, the distinct difference being an abundant presence of alcohol and the music and the lack of a professional purpose

The noise is too much. It's echoing and unceasing and makes your head throb a little and isn't aided by Nat's vicious glares. It might be because you're already tipsy on champagne you could never afford, but it's most likely because being in the same room as Steve Rogers again is creating a visceral reaction that floods your entire body. 

"'nother drink?" You ask Peter with a warm smile, any excuse to escape the judgement in Nat's eyes eager to leave your lips. 

"Sure," He says, and you give his hand a soft squeeze before taking both of your glasses and walking off in search of more wine. 

There are champagne and platters of cheese and olives and crackers crowding the kitchen island, and you're about to reach for two of the glasses when there's an "excuse me" from behind you.

"I'm sorry," She begins when you turn to her, kind smile and painted nude lips and gently curled blond hair. "I just wanted to say I love your dress."

"Oh! Thank you so much," You smile, the small compliment making you light up if only for a moment. It's the same dress you had worn that first night you had met Steve, an only semi-conscious decision made soon after you had discovered he would be attending the event. Not your proudest moment, but you didn't have a lot of those going around. "Your's is beautiful, too."

"You're Tony Stark's daughter, right?" 

"The infamous, yes," You answer through the light breath of a laugh. "It's Y/N. Do you work for the company or are you here with someone?"

"Oh, no, I'm a nurse, myself," She starts, smiling wide and almost too happy to be talking to you. "I just came along with my boyfriend. You might know him, Steve Rogers?"

The words catch in your throat, and for a moment you tense and open your mouth and you're sure you must look violently suspicious. "We've met a few time," You manage, all that you're able to conjure. "I'm sorry, I never asked your name."

"Sharon," She says and _god_ , you saw this one coming. She reaches out her hand, and you're almost certain that she must be able to sense something in the rigidness of the handshake.

You see Steve coming out of the corner of your eye, suddenly aware of your heart beating hard in your chest. "It was lovely meeting you, Sharon," You say quickly, compelling a smile as you become aware of Steve fast approaching. "But I should really get back to my friends."

"Of course," She says, a bit like a kicked puppy but still smiling all the same. "It was nice meeting you, too."

You walk past her without another word, pass Steve without so much as a glance even as he says your name. 

"No drinks?" Nat asks when you return, that look in her eye telling you she had been distastefully watching the entire situation unfold. 

"No, I, uh-" You're still flustered, breathing unsteadily as you struggle to come up with a plausible excuse. "My head is killing me," You say instead, only partially evading the question, and look towards Peter, the concern in his eyes making your chest ache. "I'm gonna go find some aspirin."

"Do you want me to get you anything?" He asks, sitting forward on the couch with that same heart-wrenching expression.

"No, it's fine," You say, forcing a small, reassuring smile. "I'll be right back."

Steve's nowhere to be seen when you turn again, despite the fact _she_ 's still in the kitchen striking up more conversation with strangers. 

A short line of questioning aimed at your dad directs you towards his office for a quick relief to the pain slowly spreading through your skull. 

You lock eyes when you open the door. 

You stop in your tracks, frozen in your position in the doorway with your hand tight on the knob. You tense even more, if that's even possible, teeth clenched so tightly their almost grating. 

You take a deep breath in, will yourself to release some of the tension stored throughout your body and pass through the doorway with an exhale and the close of the heavy door behind you.

Steve's almost as shocked as you are, silent and pale in his position beside your father's desk, a shallow glass of amber liquid in his hand, a raid on the one source of real liquor in the entire house. 

You see the glint of silver foil on the opposite side of the desk and start toward it. 

"You've got some fucking nerve bringing her here," You say, a bitter tone and a frustrated sigh at the empty tray of pills in your hand. 

"Like I don't know why your _friend_ is here." It's a sharp response, laced with inebriation and malice and catches you off guard, makes you look him right in the eye. He regrets it as soon as he says it, you can tell by the way he softens his eyes and relaxes his shoulders as he places the glass onto the desk. "Can we please have an adult conversation about this?"

"I don't think this deserves an adult conversation," You retort, moving now towards the open door of the small bathroom. "In fact, I don't think this deserves any form of conversation. I think it was a mistake starting this one."

You flip on the lightswitch with excessive force, movements now fueled by anger and blood boiling in your veins. You hear him following behind you, meet eyes in the mirror momentarily before you're blocking it with the door of the medicine cabinet. 

"Y/N." His voice doesn't sound as close as he really is when you turn with the box in your hand, swallow hard and the proximity, so close you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. 

You take a moment, chills down your spine and spreading along your arms when you look up at him, hold his gaze for a few excruciatingly long second before he's kissing you. 

You stop thinking.

Steve's mouth is fire on yours, hot and deep and tasting like rich liquor in a clash of tongue and teeth. 

The motion to kiss him back is instinctive, no delay before your dropping the box to the ground and your hands are in his hair and he's pressing you flush against him, hands roaming over your body as if gratefully returned to long missed territory.

He's intoxicating, and so are you, an addiction the other could never quite kick, always craving, waiting for the day another hit would come.

Today was the day. 

His hands are under your thighs and without a word you're making the small jump up, sat on the porcelain countertop with him between your legs. Toiletries dig into your back and fall to the tiled ground with a harsh clatter, but you find your mind utterly blank of anything except for _him_ as he moves to hike up your dress, fingers trailing burning hot paths against your bare skin before reaching the hem of your panties. 

You work the buttons of his shirt, needing so desperately to make skin to skin contact, to touch him in any way possible. Strong, tense muscle and smooth skin exactly how you remembered, exactly how you had ingrained into your mind after weeks of long nights and early mornings, almost as though nothing had ever changed.

" _Steve,_ " You breathe, a hot moan against him as he starts to trail wet kisses down your neck. It's the first time you've said it that night, the first time he's heard you say it in _weeks_ , and just the sound of his name on your lips makes his pants tighten and strain.

"God, I missed you." It's lost in the mumble of profanities falling from both of your lips, almost brings you back to reality before he leans harder into you and you can feel him thick and hard in his pants right against your clothed heat.

"Feel how fuckin hard you make me?," He mutters, hands rough on your hips as you tug him even closer by his belt, the words making you clench wet and needy around nothing.

You finally manage to unbuckle his belt, not wasting any time before your unzipping his fly and shoving your hand into his boxers and- _god_.

"Fuck." A hot and heavy moan in your ear and then he's kissing you again, rough and desperate as he raises you one better and pushes your panties aside to slowly delve one finger inside of you. 

A gasp catches in your throat, the feeling of him inside you only momentarily sedating your growing need for him, so consuming it hurts.

Two fingers now, curling and making you arch into him, head tilted back and eyes lightly closed to revel in the sensation. "Always so wet for me," He says, a soft sinking of teeth into the skin just below your ear and the kiss that's quick to soothe it. "Always such a needy little slut."

You hate him, hate _this_ , that he can always find a way to get you riled up and open and willing in front of him without even trying, that nobody else you've ever been with has known your body so well so quickly and made you feel this good. You hate that you've both come here with different people, in the same room as each other just beyond a set of closed doors, and that you're too consumed by him to even give it a second thought.

You give him a few long strokes that make him inhale sharply, his free hand moving to release himself from the restricting confines.

"Stop stalling," You say, move your hand into his hair and tug hard, savour the devilish smile he gives you before he's taking your bottom lip between his teeth and kissing you. 

"Not stalling, sweetheart," He says, the sudden withdrawal of his fingers soon amended by his tip teasing at your entrance. "Just making sure you're ready for me."

He's inside you before you can even comprehend the sentence, bottomed out and stretching you so deliciously you can't help the moan that escapes you. 

"Shh, now," he whispers, a slow draw out a and rough thrust inside of you that sets a brutal pace, mouth on yours and muffling each other. Steve had almost forgotten how _good_ you were, tight and velvet and like nothing he's ever felt before, suddenly doesn't know how he's gone this long without you. "Don't want to get caught."

The sounds that fill and echo around the bathroom are obscene, downright pornographic, only adds to slow build up in your lower stomach that's already dangerously close to bursting.

"God, you're close already, aren't you, sweetheart?" A hand holding your leg higher up on his hip, another on the small of your back and pushing you closer towards him, giving another angle that makes you tilt your head back and close your eyes tightly, the falter in his movements telling you he's just as close as you are. The same hand quickly moves to circle your clit, yet another layer of sensations that brings you right to the edge. "Come on, babygirl. I know you can let go for me so sweet."

And it's all you need to come cursing his name, milking him for everything he's got when he's right there behind you, spilling hot and plenty inside of you. 

You both go limp, the back of your head against the mirror behind you as Steve rests in your neck, wet, open kisses and heavy breath along your shoulder, heaving chests against each other.

You close your eyes, and everything hits you at once. _Fuck_.

You wipe your hands over you face, rub at your eyes and find your headache even worse. "Get out."

"Y/N," He says, defensive, pleading, needing you to let him stay. He pulls out of you anyway, puts himself hot and sticky back in his pants.

You sit back and clench your legs shut as soon as you can, still sat on the counter, feel the faint trickle slowly run down your thigh. "I said get out."

You don't look at him, keep your eyes closed and your head against the mirror as you hear the zipper and the buckle and the click of the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost half smut and I apologise for absolutely nothing. What a ride this was to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it!  
> As always, kudos, comments, and your support is greatly appreciated, and helps keep me motivated to write and make content for you all! Thank you so much for reading!!!


End file.
